It was 2:03 a.m. when the crash came. Glass shattering. Wood splintering. Your heart stopped.

You bolted upright, blinking through the dark, half convinced you were dreaming — until another thud echoed downstairs.

“Shit.”

You grabbed the nearest thing that resembled a weapon — a broom — and crept down the hall, your bare feet cold against the floorboards. The kitchen light flickered. Something moved in the shadows.

And then your foot caught the rug.

You hit the floor with a loud thud, pain shooting up your leg as everything went black for a moment.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw wasn’t an intruder — it was Yelena Belova sitting at your dining table, legs kicked up, casually chewing on a granola bar.

“Morning,” she said, mouth full. “You fall very loudly.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your head. “Yelena—what the hell are you doing here? You broke my window!”

She shrugged, gesturing to the shattered glass and the open kitchen window. “You didn’t answer your phone. I got worried. Also hungry.”

You blinked at her. “So you broke in… for a snack?”

“I didn’t break in,” she corrected calmly. “I entered. Through an… unconventional point of access.”

You sat up, realizing there was an ice pack on your head now. “Did you—did you patch me up while I was out?”

“Yes,” she said simply, taking another bite. “You looked very pathetic. I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

You exhaled slowly, trying not to smile. “You owe me a new window.”

“I owe you many things,” she said, leaning back in the chair, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “But right now, I owe you sleep. Go back to bed. I’ll clean the mess.”

“Yelena—”

“Go,” she said again, her tone soft but final.

You hesitated, watching her as she picked another granola bar from her pocket. Despite everything — the broken glass, the chaos, the way your heart was still racing — you felt oddly safe again.

Because she was here.